Fires in Distant Buildings
by marianna
Summary: The prologue to 'Nothing Gold Can Stay'. Set after the finale, but with a different twist. A lot of people were asking how Logan could have left, and here is your explanation.


You can't sleep in your house. Well, you're not sleeping much these days anyway, but the apartment is an asphyxiating mass of memories that you can't handle, so you spend most of your time either in your car or at Logan's. You try and smile as you think of him, like a good girlfriend _would_, but you can't. He's been amazing-more than that, he's been _perfect_, since…well, _since_, and you should really have no complaints. But you do. He's _too_ perfect, _too_ together, and deep down, you hate him for it. You hate that losing his father has made him stronger, not as weak and as broken as you are. You hate that he has an answer for everything, even though he salves your wounds. You hate to admit it, but you liked it better when he was as lost as you are, at least then you were equal. If he hadn't gone and changed things, you could have been fucked up together-misfits, living on the cusp, just trying to survive. But the way things stand now, you're lost enough for the both of you, and you know he doesn't need you crimping his straight and narrow.

You tell him so. You tell him you love him, but being together right now just isn't a good idea. He needs to get the hell out of Neptune and his past and you need to…well, you need to lose yourself a little. Because you can't stand the screaming in your brain anymore, and that's all there is now. Like a Yoko Ono record on repeat, there's nothing but constant noise. You'd like to drown it out, drown yourself out because you can't handle it, but you can't do that when he's here. He'd only try to stop you; to help; to _save_ you-but he doesn't get it. Nothing can save you now.

"What's going on in that head of yours, Mars?" He asks when you tell him all of this, your eyes downcast as you stare at your hands, biting your lip so hard that there's a distinct possibility of bleeding. You're trying to do the right thing, you say. You love him, and as the words fall, barely as a whisper from your lips, the tears squeezing out your eyes, making your cheeks red and raw, you know that it's true. You do love him-that's why he has to leave. You're no good to him like this. "I'm not leaving you, Veronica. I'm never leaving you again." He gathers you up into his arms, pressing reassuring kisses against your forehead, and just for a moment, for a blissful, silent moment, the screaming stops. The pain stops too, and you think maybe, just maybe, it'll be Okay. You kiss him then, your lips folding over his, keeping the screaming at bay. And instinctively, his arms wrap tighter around you, and you fall into him, breathing him as if he were oxygen.

Afterwards though, it's no better. The screaming starts the moment you open your eyes as you find yourself in a strange bed without your clothes on. You can't breathe, and for a crazy minute, you forget his tragic death and honestly believe that it's Beaver Casablancas sleeping heavily next to you. You're halfway off the bed when his hand snakes out and grabs your arm and you scream because you can and because you're scared and because he's supposed to be dead. You saw it, you saw _him_, heard the fall and you can't believe that he survived and that he's _here_. Your fingers grab blindly behind you, gripping on to the chrome lamp from the side table, and holding it fiercely overhead. Logan's eyes widen as they take you in, but even after he tells you it's Okay, that it's just him, that he'd never hurt you, trying to soothe your hurts and run your demons away, you know it isn't. Nothing will ever be Okay again, and you have to get rid of him. You can't handle this anymore; you can't handle _him_ and his soulful eyes and declarations of time and forever. You'd kill yourself if you didn't know how much it would kill _him_, and despite everything, you love him. You want to laugh at that, but you don't. You've forgotten how, and you relish the thought that soon, you'll forget everything.

You fuck Dick Casablancas on a Tuesday in August. All of your days run together now, but you know this is a Tuesday, because Logan always comes home from work early on Tuesdays, and you want him to see this. Dick is surprisingly hard to seduce, but you don't let that deter you. This is your last resort, the only way to get rid of Logan and have him think it was his idea. His pride may be stung, but at least he'll leave you alone, and you won't have to live in the constant fear of letting him down anymore.

He's whistling as he unlocks the door to the suite, cheerily calling, "Honey, I'm home!" Sobs rack through you as you lean down and press your lips against Dick's. He's practically comatose, so he doesn't notice. He's barely rocking inside you, and you hope to god he doesn't remember this tomorrow. "V? Where are you? I got Italian takeout. Mama Leoni's-" For just a second, you contemplate scrambling off Dick and hiding him under the covers. He shouldn't wake up for hours, and you know that you can fix this, make the problem go away, that maybe being domesticated with Logan won't be such a bad thing-but you don't get the chance to do anything as you hear his breath catch as he pushes open the door to Duncan's room, the smile frozen on his lips. "Your favorite." The words hang heavy in the air as he blinks at you, and you feel the spindly foundation of your world crumbling with the look in his eyes.

"I-" He doesn't let you finish. He won't even look at you, but as he turns, you're sure you see the sheen of tears in his eyes, and it rips your heart out. "Logan, I-" Your words fall on silence as you hear the door click quietly behind his retreating form. Slumping to the ground against the doorjamb, you cry harder than you're ever cried in your life. He's gone. He's gone and there is nothing you can do, because it's your fault. You call yourself a fool because you are one. You're wishing things were different-wishing you could go back and not be so _stupid_ when you hear Dick's voice.

"Hey Ronnie," You're too tired to tell him to shove it when you see him laying lines on the lap desk that once belonged to Jake Kane. There's white powder surrounding his nostrils and his eyes are glazed. He doesn't have a care in the world, even though he's lost as much as you have, and suddenly, you know what you want.


End file.
